The living room smelled of fresh paint and clean pine.

Toby sat on the rug in the middle of the room, surrounded by half-opened cardboard boxes.

His right arm was still held stiff in the fiberglass splint, but his left hand held a small wooden picture frame he had pulled out of a packing crate.

“Look at this one, Mom,” Toby said softly.

He held up a brand-new watercolor painting he had finished at his little table earlier that week.

It showed a huge stone bridge stretching across a wide blue river.